


Captivation

by kurgaya



Series: Hallucinogenic Gentleman [7]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Community: hc_bingo, Dorks in Love, F/F, Female Ichigo, Female Tōshirō, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re going to laugh at me,” says the substitute, looking faintly wounded already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captivation

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be part of a longer story, but plans change :3
> 
> This also fills my 'wildcard: body image issues' prompt on the h/c bingo on livejournal.

“Ah,” says Chihiro, looking vaguely traumatised to see Tōshirō on the front door step, hands stuffed into the pockets of the jacket she has wriggled the stiff, uncomfortable limbs of her gigai into. The door is only peeped open a fraction, but internal conflict is painted across Chihiro’s expression – in the twist to her mouth and the deer-like wideness to her gaze – as she searches the captain’s figure for something akin to salvation.

Tōshirō lifts a single icy eyebrow and briefly considers the best response to the human’s abnormal sourness. “I didn’t think the dress was that bad,” is what she attempts, and though she means it mostly as a joke, the burgundy fabric draped over her angles and curves feels heavier for a moment, as if sulking under Chihiro’s scrutiny. The captain feels a little bit like doing the same – the dress had been a last-minute decision, prompted by Matsumoto’s fierce persuasion and Tōshirō’s rare desire to make herself a _tad_ more attractive than the office-tidy workaholic that she presents to her division. Clearly Ichigo’s impulsiveness is rubbing off on her in all the wrong ways.

“Oh no!” Chihiro blurts, wrenching the door open and beckoning the captain inside. “I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just… I mean – maybe now isn’t a good time?”

Dutifully, Tōshirō steps in, but at the other’s hesitant mumble, she refrains from removing her shoes.

“May I ask why?” she queries, teal eyes sharp as they survey Chihiro’s expression. There doesn’t appear to be any unusual sounds from further inside the house – the chinks and squeaks from the kitchen suggest that Kouhei is washing up, and though she cannot hear her girlfriend, Tōshirō can feel Ichigo’s reiryoku burning as always – so the captain can only question her welcome.

Chihiro flounders. Her behaviour is the only thing that Tōshirō can safely say is out of place; usually bright and bouncy, to see the human woman acting reluctantly in a social interaction is disheartening.

“I can leave,” the Tenth Division captain supplies, motioning towards the door. Dropping a text to her partner before dropping herself into Fukuoka probably would have been a sensible action anyway, so Tōshirō can only blame herself for overstepping. Chihiro and Kouhei have always been so accommodating for her, but it is their apartment as much as it is Ichigo’s, and they are perfectly entitled to turn people away.

“No, no!” Chihiro says, shaking her head frantically. She blushes, flustered, looking apologetic. “It’s just that – well – _oh_.” She sighs, sticking out her chin in exasperation. Crossing her arms over her chest, Chihiro nudges the door shut and falls against it heavily, her five-foot stature seeming to shrink. “Ichigo’s being a moron and she’s moping. Really, she’s not going to be the best of company, but I suppose you’re the perfect person to snap her out of it. Maybe you could… you know…?”

With the only viable exit (for her gigai anyway) now cut off, Tōshirō doesn’t appear to have much of a choice about staying anyway. She concedes to the desperate request and lets Chihiro point her in the direction of Ichigo’s last location – Tōshirō knows exactly where her girlfriend is, but Chihiro doesn’t know that. Neither of the two humans Ichigo shares the apartment with are in any way spiritually aware, but whether or not Ichigo purposely ensured it that is no business of the captain’s. Instead of admitting such, Tōshirō slips off her shoes and thanks her host, bidding Kouhei’s aproned form a _good afternoon_ when she passes the kitchen.

She knocks on the bedroom door, pushing a burst of icy mist through the cracks to announce herself. The temperament of a wildfire, Ichigo’s reiryoku ceases its churning and rushes out scorching reiatsu to meet her; sparks of a fire across her skin, Tōshirō delights in the sensation as she pushes open the door. It’s a positive sign for the substitute’s welfare – the captain has seen Ichigo in the depths of depression before, trapped into herself with her reiatsu spitting dangerously. Not even the chill of Hyorinmaru’s breath had been enough to coax Ichigo’s fire to alight again. Tōshirō had been useless, and it had frightened her to realise that nothing but her silence was going to help her girlfriend.

In the bedroom, enwrapped by golden and bronze hues of the early-autumn afternoon, Ichigo is lying across her bed. Cut off from the world by the singing of her earphones, the substitute shinigami is miming to her ceiling; a perfect audience, the lampshade beams an applauding smile back down at her. Although her eyes are open and her senses aware, Ichigo doesn’t turn to greet the wintry captain. Instead, she continues circling her foot in time with the song; it’s a slow motion with a piano-key beat, Tōshirō wonders what she’s listening to.

Gliding across the room, the captain perches on the side of the bed. The duvet dipping beneath her presence and the sheets seeming to soften as she reaches out for Ichigo’s thigh, Tōshirō says nothing. Ichigo has shown incredible patience with her, and returning the favour is the least she can do.

Eventually, Ichigo yanks the earphones out and tosses the cable across the bed, the music quietening as the iPod is kicked away. Rolling onto her side, gloomy sunshine greets Tōshirō’s snowy countenance; her golden fringe tumbling across her expression, Ichigo has to puff it away before she can attempt a smile for her visiting girlfriend.

Not entirely convinced of its genuineness, Tōshirō responds with her characteristic eyebrow, and Ichigo laughs softly as her grasp scours around for the little hand on the bed.

“You’re going to laugh at me,” says the substitute, looking faintly wounded already.

“I won’t,” Tōshirō denies. “Not if you’re upset.”

Ichigo shakes her head into the pillow, tugging her girlfriend’s hand closer to her. “Thanks, but it’s nothing serious, not really. I just I’m just being an idiot,” she says, kissing Tōshirō’s knuckles. “Bet that’s what Chihiro said.”

It is, but Tōshirō doesn’t confirm her partner’s assumption.

That, in itself, is answer enough.

Ichigo’s subsequent eye roll is knowing, and her reiryoku flutters briefly in amusement. Soothed by the feel of the heat of the reiatsu against her skin cooling, Tōshirō sits a little closer, almost laying herself across her partner’s hips. Moving to accommodate the motion, Ichigo encourages them together until the blizzardy mane is within reach. Playing with the strands idly, she hums a moment of hesitation, and then throws caution to the wind:

“Picked up my reading glasses today,” she blurts, her jaw shutting abruptly in preparation for Tōshirō’s reaction.

Tōshirō does nothing more than raise a questioning eyebrow and mutter, “I see?” even though she doesn’t see the glasses anywhere or any reason as to why Ichigo would be distressed about having to wear them. Yet she doesn’t express a flicker of amusement, as promised, and Ichigo looks mildly surprised at the neutrality.

“I look _stupid_ in them,” the substitute notes, huffing her fringe away again. It flops back down in front of her eyes in exaggeration of her annoyance, and Ichigo emits a dejected sigh.

Somewhat confused about the whole situation, because Ichigo is actually moping, and she’s not certain why, Tōshirō asks, “You chose them?”

Hazelnut eyes blink at her before widening in comprehension. “Yeah,” Ichigo replies grudgingly, no doubt casting her mind back to whatever gruesome experience the shop assistants had dragged her through.

“And they help you see more clearly?”

Ichigo’s semi-permanent scowl finds its home on her expression. “Well – yeah,” she grumbles, her tone adding on disinclined _I know what you’re going to say next_.

The other silver eyebrow rises to mirror the first.

Copying the look, the substitute leans over to the bedside table and scoops up the glasses case there. Opening the little box with the reserve of someone who expects the plastic to bite her, Ichigo thrusts the spectacles onto her nose to emphasise her point, screwing her face up distastefully as if to influence Tōshirō’s initial judgement.

They’re more rectangular than the captain was expecting; framed a silvery grey (probably because little else would agree with her hair colour), they don’t detract from Ichigo’s appearance in any way. Admittedly, she looks a little odd – unfamiliar, almost, though that will change with time – but Tōshirō cannot say there is anything obnoxious about them.

“They suit you,” she states, trying to picture her girlfriend with rounded, professor-like or leopard-print pointed glasses like the captain has seen on TV. Each style accompanies a particularly type of person, and Ichigo – unsubtle at the best of times – needs a pair that won’t draw too much more attention to her introversion.

Apparently not agreeing, Ichigo huffs a laugh and links her hands around Tōshirō’s shoulders, finding a strip of her girlfriend’s dress to play with. “That’s what the staff said.”

“I imagine they know what they’re talking about,” the captain quips, smiling at Ichigo’s offended expression.

“I imagine they’re _paid_ to talk rubbish,” the ginger woman snorts, but her hands find the comfort of Tōshirō’s hair again, unravelling the bun with careful, impish movements.

Tōshirō lets her do as she wishes, rolling her eyes at the part of her partner’s body that she can see. Ichigo’s foot doesn’t give much of a response to the indignation, but the substitute giggles and glides her fingers through the icy storm, working out the knots. Tōshirō allows the ministration for the minute it takes her to realise that Ichigo isn’t inclined to finish their conversation; rolling her eyes, the captain figures she might as well get comfortable if she’s going to be subject to cuddling, and wiggles away.

Ignoring the confused noise that Ichigo makes, Tōshirō drops her gigai. Graceless, it collapses, deprived of both a soul and gikongan, but the captain catches the empty shell before it can alert the other occupants of the apartment to the anomaly. Instantly relieved of the confines of the artificial body, Tōshirō rolls back her shoulders and flexes her limbs, pushing grateful reiatsu from her centre to survey the apartment, the street, and the lives in the buildings beyond.

Fukuoka is peaceful today.

If any Hollow were to sniff around this hunting ground, they would soon agree.

After the captain has settled the parameters of her guard, the frosted air about her figure disperses, withdrawing to let the room warm again. As such, it is only when the temperature rockets upwards that she realises Ichigo is standing before her, her own fiery darkness crackling across her skin in sparks and bursts of volcanic lightning.

Cloaked in her standard black shihakushō, the substitute’s entire demeanour has changed. Body dumped on the bed; a motionless corpse of her human life, Ichigo’s soul is resilient and prepared. Eyes sharp and questioning behind her glasses, she taps the hilt of Zangetsu’s great blade and slides her gaze to Hyorinmaru, still secured safely to Tōshirō’s back.

There’s a question in the movement, and the captain feels a rush of amusement as she comprehends their situation.

“I apologise,” she says, her smile calming Ichigo’s heated apprehension. “I was just making myself comfortable – I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

The change in her partner’s posture is immediate – slouching, Ichigo’s body loses all tension, and laughter replaces her attentive countenance.

“Jesus, I thought you’d sensed an Arrancar or something.”

“Thankfully not,” Tōshirō states, frowning as she recalls her last encounter with an Arrancar in Fukuoka. Hyorinmaru hasn’t humoured her controversial weapon preference since then, but the wintry shinigami can only consider that a good thing.

(Digging Ichigo out of ruin and fear is the last thing she wants to repeat).

“I’m sure you’d take care of it again,” the substitute says, tucking her girlfriend under her chin. “Poor Karakura isn’t going to be able to manage without you.”

“ _Poor Karakura_ ,” Tōshirō repeats, sarcasm expressing her disbelief. The fabric of Ichigo’s uniform muffles her words, but they are standing close enough for this not to matter. “I _do_ still have duties in your home town.”

Ichigo’s own incredulity is interrupted by a sneeze. “God, has Rangiku-san thrown a bottle of perfume over you or something?” she whines, wrinkling her nose. “Your hair is really…”

It is Tōshirō’s time to groan.

“…Dusty?” Ichigo adds, rubbing some between her fingertips.

“There was an accident in the division today – nothing to worry about,” Tōshirō assures, feeling Ichigo’s fire flash as the substitute sucks in a breath through her teeth. “My twelfth seat discovered his zanpakuto’s name just after nine this morning – I haven’t quite worked out what to put down on his file yet, but his shikai brought down half of the front gate. No one was hurt beyond a few scratches, although I imagine the night guards are going to have an interesting shift tonight.”

The wall is going to take a while to be re-built. The shinigami on duty tonight are just going to have to imagine the circumference of the division until they can replace the kido boundaries with something more substantial.

“So why the dust?”

“I was on my way back from a meeting when it happened,” Tōshirō replies, belatedly pulling away as she remembers that the dust in her hair is now likely to be all over Ichigo’s clothes. “I was going to have a shower to wash it out, but some of my officers cornered me about the Academy student that we’ve been assigned and I just – forgot.”

The captain almost shakes her head at the tardiness, but quickly catches herself before she can scatter more reishi particles into the apartment. Fortunately for her, Chihiro and Kouhei won’t be able to see the mess, but that wouldn’t make Tōshirō feel any less guilty about trekking dirt through the house.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ichigo says, following her partner across the room and recapturing her into a hug. “I need to vacuum the carpet anyway. You can have a shower here, if you don’t want to go back into your gigai – there’s a set of your uniform still in the bottom of the wardrobe, although…”

“If you’re going to suggest that we _shower together_ , then you’re out of luck.”

Ichigo laughs. “No, no, I was just thinking…” Loving hands reach out and wind around the captain’s waist. “You looked really lovely in that dress – you should put your gigai back on. Red suits you.”

“Your glasses suit you,” Tōshirō retorts, and though she doesn’t explicitly say how attractive she thinks (she knows) her girlfriend is, her fondness is implied in the firm, gentle tone to her words.

Ichigo is quiet for a moment.

“You forgot you were wearing them, didn’t you?” the icy shinigami asks, momentarily glad that she’s short enough so that her partner cannot see her smirk.

“Er,” says Ichigo. “No?”

Tōshirō laughs and encourages her girlfriend’s head down so that she can dot a kiss into her scarlet cheek. The glasses wobble with the motion but remain where they’re supposed to, and Ichigo blinks, stunned that they’re still perched on her nose.

“You never know,” the captain whispers, smirking into her partner’s jaw. “If you can’t see close up objects, you might have been lacking _clarity_ all this time.”

“Clarity?” Ichigo echoes, happily sliding her hands up the back of Tōshirō’s top. “For what?”

The question earns another kiss. And then another, trailing around her jaw to find her mouth; red-lipped and eager to comply.

Tōshirō merely smirks into the lips against hers, inspiring the affection to continue. “I’m sure you can think of a few things.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
